


These Weak, Tired Souls

by PrismaticDelight



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura works as a barista part-time, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, F/M, Fluff, Lance speaking Spanish, Lance totally takes dance classes, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Starts with Shiro not having his prosthetic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 21:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12021108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrismaticDelight/pseuds/PrismaticDelight
Summary: They met once as children, separated from their respective families and waitingfor their return. Keith and Lance wouldn’t see each other again until they attended the same university, beginning to dig into one another lives while attempting to prevent entanglement.(wow worst summary ever I'm sorry-)





	These Weak, Tired Souls

**Author's Note:**

> Wow this chapter is shorter than I intended but I'm excited to continue writing this because this is my first fanfiction for Voltron! Regardless of length, I hope it's still enjoyable.

   “Crap…” Mutters a scrawny, tanned boy who stops in his tracks within an aisle of a grocery store. He turns at least three times just to make sure he isn’t losing his mind and has indeed lost track of his family. How is just as much of a curiosity to anyone else as it is to him. The family he traveled here with might as well be called a group given the size and a crowd due to the noise they give, which is a strange mix of Spanish shouting and English mumbling. A hand rustles through the short dark brown locks splayed over his cranium and sticking out in every direction possible; knowing if he stood in this spot too long, someone might get the wrong idea. He’s been told before the darker side of civilization. Not in great detail, but just enough to know there are those will take advantage of others should the chance arise. And so the boy moves in strides, weaving through the sea of adults tugging along their own tantrum throwing children and lolly-gagging teenagers who are just shy of looking as though they don’t know what to do at a supermarket. Luckily, this child knows the store well enough to be able to find someone who can help him at the customer service section; a place he’ll be able to wait in safety. Unbeknownst to him, another kid would be going through the same situation at the other side of the store.

   This boy would be lighter in complexion and darker in hair color, which came down the back of his neck in the style of a mullet by just a few inches. He also looks far more disturbed than the former, with his thicker brows coming down to furrow, at the lack of parental guidance. Not that he’s so dependent on his father that he can’t navigate the area on his own (and be fine should something happen.) He knows he can run at such a speed that (at least in his imagination) it rivals a cheetah. But it’s the fact of being suddenly alone, abruptly isolated from the warmth of his father, in an unfamiliar and enormous lot that makes the nerves rise. “Geez--I told him we shouldn’t have come here.” He hears himself mutter, with a heavy sigh following immediately after, feet already on the move to take him forward along the produce wall at his left. In fact, it was that very wall itself which convinced his father to come here because it was apparently “freshest of the fresh”. That level of freshness only comes when someone has their own garden and has the pleasure of eating straight out of it. It’s the one time the faint taste of dirt actually tastes good, and the smell of earth becomes relaxing. Comforting. Although he wouldn’t have to walk alone for long when a member of staff in a dark blue apron--soiled by flour and sugar from the bakery-- came towards him and ever so kindly offered her help.

  _She was a kind woman._

   The former child, which short and wild brown hair, dropped himself into a plastic orange chair propped against the wall just behind the customer service counter; able to watch the adults work away their hours with quiet prayers whispered about wanting their breaks to come sooner, and the stupidity to end before they themselves become morons. One man tried to return a half eaten pie because it allegedly wasn’t the flavor he wanted. The label on the plastic casing was boldly labeled “Key-Lime”, so unless his sight is failing him (and perhaps not even then), it’d be virtually impossible to misread it. “What’s the kid’s name again?” Asks a towering gingered man, holding the phone against his chest as he spoke to a significantly shorter brunette girl. “Lance.” She answers, moving papers and bags of returned items aside before turning to face the boy, a jawbreaker sized blue lollipop in her hands.

   “Would you like to have this?” the girl asked, watching Lance’s entire face illuminated with glee.  
   “Yeah! Totally!” Lance leaned forward in anticipation when she strode to him, offering it with a quiet chuckle. When he took it from her grasp, he gave a eager ‘thank you’,  
hurriedly undoing the transparent wrapping.  
   “He almost makes me want children.”  
   “ _Almost_?” The man glanced back with a brow raised.  
   “They’re painful and expensive.” She shrugged, returning to his side.  
   “Sounds an awful lot like you.” He gave a cheeky grin, which earned him a solid whack on the back of his head. “Ow!”  
   “See that, Lance? Don’t be like him. He’s the perfect definition of why some are still single.”

   Lance barely contains a snicker, and the only reason he did was due to having the sugar treat in his mouth, fearing he’d choke on despite its size. While his parents liked this store for the fine assortment of produce and poultry (and he personally for the dozens of candy options), Lance enjoyed it for the staff he got to meet. They were almost always the most humorous and relaxed human beings around--it felt like he was mingling with his favorite crowd. The giant ginger gave the announcement the phone, voice carrying the speakers of the store, officially stating they had a boy named Lance at customer service and his family would be able to find him there. With the statement given, the boy waited, swinging his slim legs which were apparently already a little too long for his age of seven. It would only be a couple of minutes before a woman came to the counter, dreadlocks just barely staying in the bun she tied it in, gesturing to someone presumably shorter than her. “Another kid?” the man grumbled, more annoyed with the parents themselves than having to make sure the children were safe. “Saturdays are busy…can’t say I’m too surprised.”responds the feisty brunette. Lance tries leaning in any direction he could to see who the other kid was, opting finally to simply stand on the chair.

   The blonde comes around the right side, revealing that striking blue apron, to the hanging counter she lifts up, gently nudging the other child who held a small puff pastry in his hands. She asks for his name, and the boy hesitates before saying: “Keith. Keith Kogane.” Lance could barely hear him, and he cocked his head to the side at the surname, one he’s never heard of. From where he stood, he watches Keith shuffle towards the chair at his left side and only continued to stand long after he sat down. Keith could feel his eyes which bore into his skull, making him that much more uncomfortable until he gave in; whipping his head up just to shoot Lance a weak glare.

   “Why are you staring at me?” He asked, voice just shy of being a grumble. Lance hesitated to speak, climbing down onto his rear end with Keith’s gaze following him the whole way.  
   “Because…” Actually, there wasn’t a reason. For a second, his blue eyes trailed aside back to staff ahead and back at the boy. “You have pretty eyes!”

   Keith stares for the longest time with a look of utter confusion and awe that Lance could say something like that so… easily. He can hardly compliment his own teachers at school; even ones he knows like the back of his hand, and yet here’s this blue eyed dark skinned boy throwing it out there like it’s nothing.

   “I…No, I don’t…” Keith manages to choke out, furiously stuffing his mouth with the pastry to avoid further embarrassment.  
   “No way! You do!” Lance protests with a firm nod of his head. “I’ve never seen anyone with purple eyes--I didn’t even know that was possible in real life!” He expected some sort of response, even a glance would suffice, but instead he earned silence. He slumped briefly, gnawing on his cheek. “Soooo, you’re Keith huh?”  
   “Yeah,” The tone was too close to ‘obviously nit-wit, I just said that’. However, it didn’t deter the other.  
   “I’m Lance!” He smacked a hand onto his chest, pulling the lollipop from his mouth afterwards. Keith swallowed steadily, giving a nod to show he understood.  
   “Nice to meet you then…Lance.”  
   “You too!” There’s a slight pause. “You know, I was here first. _And_ I got a lollipop!” Lance waved the object he spoke up with a triumphant grin.  
   “And I was here second?” Keith’s face scrunched in question, wondering why Lance felt the need to mention that. “I got a pastry, so…”  
   “Lollipops are better. They last longer.”  
   “Pastries beat lollipops because they have more flavor and different types of them.”  
   Lance huffed. “What about sharks vs dolphins?!”

    But before Keith could respond, the two heard Lance's name being called only a foot or so away. It makes his ears perk up, eyes whip over to the source where he’d see his mother coming to the desk. She’s a paragon of motherhood, a woman skilled in smothering her children in unending affection, offering words of wisdom that makes one question if she faced similar circumstances which taught her this knowledge, and while at times strict with punishments or chores, she only acts such way to ensure the future generations can provide for themselves. His mother bore mid-length wavy hair, its hue a deep rich almost mocha brown, eyes similar in color and softened by the relieved smile her lips curved into at the sight of her son.

   “I guess I gotta go now but…” As he hopped off the chair, Lance turned to Keith, flashing a toothy grin his way. “It was nice meeting you! I hope we see each other again.”  
   “I…” Keith was a bit surprised by his words, but felt himself smiling slowly but surely. “I hope so too. I’ll make sure to be first to arrive wherever we meet next.”  
   “Pssh! Yeah right, I’m holding ya to it!”

   How long has it been since that meeting? To guess, at least thirteen years. Thirteen years of hoping to see those striking purple eyes and ridiculous black mullet. Thirteen years of wanting to see the sparkling, illuminating blue orbs, framed by short brown hair. Years of accidentally mistaking someone for who they once knew on the street, well, at least for Keith. Lance rarely ever sees anyone with mullets.

 

 

   And those thirteen years of waiting would finally pay off.


End file.
